


The Duality of Duty

by tillo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Language, Kidnapping, Knight Miya Atsumu, M/M, Miya Atsumu Needs a Hug, Pining, Prince Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillo/pseuds/tillo
Summary: The life of the first prince was easy — Kiyoomi hated it.What he hated the most, however, was the annoying, un-yielding, cocky, intolerable and unbearably constant shadow that went by the name of Miya Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first fic !! i cant tell 4 the life of me whether it is okay or a pile of trash ! so, comments / kudos would b appreciated... 
> 
> enjoy! hopefully.

The life of a first prince was easy — rarely having to lift a finger in the way of work or labour; making a few appearances at banquets and meetings and balls; having everything handed to you upon a polished silver platter; someone always waiting at your beck and call.

Kiyoomi hated it.

He hated being a prince — hated the fact that there was always someone there, waiting for him to kick up a fuss, or need to be helped at some menial task that he couldn’t help but think was far too simple to have someone employed to do. He hated that there were such high expectations of him, and yet it was assumed that he needed assistance for the tiniest of tasks. He hated the idea that people looked up to him, despite him having done nothing to deserve such praise, other than being the lucky offspring of the king.

What he could safely say he hated the most, however, was the annoying, un-yielding, cocky, intolerable and unbearably constant shadow that he had seemed to have obtained around the age of 17, that went by the name of Miya Atsumu. 

He was by far Kiyoomi’s least favourite out of all the palace’s innumerable staff — and he’d been stuck with the man for half a decade.

When Sakusa had gone to ask (demand) his father to get rid of this ‘irritating little weasel that stuck to him like some kind of parasite’, the king had merely said that it was ‘vital that he and his personal guard grew to know each other well, as they would be spending a great deal of time together in the future’, and that ‘Knight Miya was already renowned for his skills, despite being so young’.

Sakusa doubted that the boy had anything that could resemble being a ‘skill’, other than being a huge pain in his ass.

————

Today just happened to be one of those days when Miya decided to demonstrate how much of a pain in Sakusa’s ass he could truly be, knocking too loudly on the tall doors of the prince’s bed-chamber far too soon after the sun had risen over the horizon.

“Miya, fuck off.” The prince said, with an eloquence and propriety that his school teachers would have gasped at, “I’m sleeping.”

“Aw, prince! How d’ya know it was me?”

Sakusa curled up on himself under his silken bedsheets in a vague attempt to slip back into the uninterrupted comfort of his slumber, but at the sound of feet hurrying over to his windows and pulling back the curtains to bring the sun into his room, he groaned, and sat up with a decidedly sour expression.

“Your voice carries. I heard you laughing five minutes ago.” Sakusa muttered and blinked himself fully awake.

“So you weren’t asleep—“ The knight grinned from where he stood silhouetted by the window, “I thought we were on a no-lying basis.”

“I was hoping it was just a dream.”

As soon as Sakusa said the words, he knew it was a mistake.

“So ya’ dream about me now, Omi-Omi?” He smirked, that one, cocky smirk that made Sakusa want to punch him more than normal, “Ya know, if you ever need the _real_ me at night, I’m always available…”

Kiyoomi couldn’t remember when he’d started letting Miya call him by anything other than his official title, or when he’d been allowed to wake the prince up at such god-awful hours of the morning, but both things seemed irreversible now, so Sakusa let it go. There was only so much he could be frustrated with at one time.

“Get me my clothes…” He said quietly, hoping to pause the teasing until he could at least fully shake the feeling of sleep away, “And, why are you even here so early?”

Sakusa knew better than to reply to the knight’s taunts— he’d learnt within a week of meeting the boy that it was a futile act. As much as he wanted to think of Miya as no more than an idiot, he had an undeniable talent for coming up with cocky things to say that Kiyoomi couldn’t hope to counter.

Miya did as he was asked without complaint, scooping up the pile of clothes that had been prepared for the prince the night before, and tossing them rather haphazardly onto the bed beside Sakusa. It wasn’t exactly common practice for the prince to dress himself, and much less for his personal guard to be the one tending to him so early in the morning, but Sakusa had made it quite clear that he hated being helped to do the simplest things, and always dismissed any servants that ever came to his aid. And, being unable to get rid of his guard in the same way he could the servants, they had ended up with this strange sort of arrangement. The prince didn’t like it, but it was better than being flocked by a handful of maids every second of the day. Although, he would never admit to having such a tolerance for Miya.

“The king wants to see ya’.” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“He wants to see me? Why? Couldn’t it wait?”

“Apparently not. Some important royal business, or sumthin’.”

Sakusa merely gave a groan in response, glaring at the other male in the room as he hooked his fingers under the hem of his sleep shirt.

“Miya. You’re staring.”

“Ah, ‘m sorry.” The guard turned around quickly, covering his eyes with both hands just to demonstrate that he really wasn’t peeking — and, unbeknownst to the prince, hiding the pink flush that had spread across his cheeks.

Sakusa let out a huff and stripped off his bedclothes before redressing himself in attire suitable for a prince. He wore a deep, emerald green colour, with gold embellishments and lining around the hems. His clothes always felt overly formal, considering all he was to be doing most days was moving around his own home; another thing he hated about being a prince — luxury seemed to be a given, and yet comfort never aligned with that idea.

“Okay. Let’s see what he wants then.” Sakusa brushed his fingers through the curly black hair on his head as he stood. He looked over to his guard, who had turned back around and was now making his way out of the room, dropping into step beside the prince as they walked. He definitely felt overdressed next to Miya — the man wore simple, earthy tones — looser fitting clothing that hung off his broad shoulders well and complimented his skin tone, which wasn’t half as pale as Sakusa’s own.

“Now you’re the one starin’, Prince,” Atsumu smirked, nudging Kiyoomi with his elbow.

“How come you get to wear such informal clothes. Aren’t you meant to be my personal knight? Shouldn’t that make you someone who wears proper clothes, like me?” Sakusa ignored the jibe, instead choosing to voice his most recent frustration.

Atsumu brought his hand to his hip, knocking his knuckles again the scabbard of his sword that hung from his belt, the action itself a vague answer to the question, “Gotta be able to move to protect ya’, Omi. Can’t have your knight restricted by those tight jackets — and, I personally think green is more your colour.”

Sakusa let out a slow sigh, pulling absentmindedly at the sleeves of the aforementioned jacket. He hadn’t needed to ask the question, really. He was smart enough to know why and had been wearing such clothes all his life - plenty enough time to learn of their restrictions. Restrictions that were definitely not ideal for someone whose job rested on them being able to protect the Prince at all times.

Since a very young age, Sakusa had been adamant that he didn’t need constant supervision. He was constantly running from the maids and teachers that were tasked with keeping an eye on him as a child, and measures were quickly put in place to prevent him from doing so — knights at every exit, locks on every door, latches too high up on the window for a child to even dream of reaching. As he grew older, he demanded to be taught how to fight; how to wield a sword and defend himself so could be free of the continuous protection by the knights that followed him through the palace and city. His mother and father had been shocked at the mere suggestion — the prince bearing a weapon was apparently a monstrous thought, and was to never be spoken of again.

And still, he demanded he be free of guards and maids and servants, and one day managed to sneak his way into the city, alone. The freedom was exhilarating to a 15-year-old prince, though he wasn’t partial to the dirt and general lack of cleanliness that was the city compared to the palace. Unfortunately, he’d underestimated how many people would recognise the firstborn prince; with his porcelain skin and jet black hair, the unmistakable moles above his brow and the clothes fit for none one less than a royal. The boy had been kidnapped less than an hour into his adventure, robbed of all he had on him that was worth anything, and his body littered with bruises and cuts by the time the palace knights found him.

Not long after his regrettable little adventure, which had yet to diminish his hatred for the life of a prince, was when he met Miya Atsumu for the first time. As much as he tried, Miya was much more resilient than the maids when it came to following the prince wherever he went, and getting rid of him proved impossible. Sakusa tried ignoring him for a week straight — shutting doors in his face, pretending to not hear him, talking harshly about him to other people when he stood directly beside him, and yet Miya stayed. Seeing that plan being fruitless, he tried being as rude and demanding as possible — ordering the guard around, having Miya fetch anything he needed, open every door, and even spoon-feed him at one point (though Kiyoomi quickly stopped that, finding that he was more uncomfortable with it than Miya was), and still, Miya stayed. Sakusa tried everything that he could think of and now, six years on, Miya was still at his side, and as exasperating as ever.

Over time, Sakusa had lost the will to protest against life at the palace. He did what was asked of him for the most part, and always attended to his father when called. He still disliked the constant surrounding of people, and the way that they spoke and looked at him, but he had long since given up complaining about it to anyone other than Atsumu. He attended balls and put on a smile when shaking hands with various brown-nosed nobles, and made appearances in stuffy clothes that made his skin crawl when he had to. He was the picture of a perfect prince to anyone concerned, and found that acting as such was the easiest way to get by.

The throne room was the largest of the rooms in the palace and by far the most intimidating. It was sparse; an open floor except for the raised area at the end of the room on which sat a wide, golden throne, crafted by the finest craftsmen and finished with the reddest velvet the kingdom could produce. The room was mostly used for the various balls and banquets that the king held, but when empty and quiet like it was now, Sakusa couldn’t help but feel a lump rise in his throat. Currently, his father sat upon the throne, and around him milled a handful of the palace’s staff, as usual.

Sakusa entered the throne room and pulled his lips into a soft smile, tucking his hands behind his back as he made his way over to the throne, Miya following closely behind. He dipped his head in greeting, and could see the man beside him drop to a knee.

“Father, you wanted to see me?”

The king glanced over to his son, the man’s expression revealing nothing, as usual. The king was well respected throughout the kingdom and the country, renowned for his loyalty to his people and his fortitude in war. Sakusa couldn’t help but feel as if he had failed to inherit any of his admirable traits.

“Kiyoomi, we’re to have another banquet tomorrow, a celebration for you,” The king said, his voice seeming to fill the entire room, despite him speaking only to those in front of him.

The prince cast his gaze up at the king, his eyebrows pulled into an expression of confusion,

“For me? My birthday isn’t for another three months, Father, there is really no need. We held a banquet just the other day…”

The king laughed, and shook his head,

“It’s a celebration before your departure. You’re to be married, Kiyoomi.”

Beside him, Sakusa felt Atsumu shift.

“Married?”

“Don’t look so surprised, my boy. This has been a long time coming.”

It was true. Sakusa knew better than anyone that part of his duty as the prince was to marry if it would bring his kingdom into prosperity. But the kingdom was thriving, more than it ever had before, and Kiyoomi had thought that the time for him to be wed was a long time off. Being married into another kingdom or to some wealthy noble’s daughter could hardly improve his own kingdom at all.

“There’s no need, Father! There’s no war, no famine — the harvests are better than ever, and the people are happy — there’s practically wealth to spare!” Kiyoomi faltered slightly, realising how his voice had grown louder and the way he could his heart beating in his ears. He let out a slow breath, loosening his posture and lowering his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was considerably quieter.

“I just… don’t see why I must, when we have nothing to gain.”

The king merely shook his head with a soft smile, waving his hand to dismiss the issue — and that was that. Sakusa’s protests shaken off like they were of no concern.

“As I said, tomorrow will be the celebration of your departure. You are to be the centre of attention, my son, so I expect only the best from you.”

The king turned back to the servants that he had been busy with before Kiyoomi’s arrival, and thus was his signal to leave. The prince dipped his head again, turning on his heel and making his way out of the room, his footsteps loud against the cold marble floor. Atsumu followed.

Once they were in the hallway, and far enough that they were safely out of sight of the king, Kiyoomi let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, unfurling his hands which had curled up into fists at some point.

“Married, Miya. He’s sending me off to get _married._ ” The prince said with a shaky voice, still walking quickly in an attempt to get to the sanctuary that was his bedroom as fast as possible.

“I heard, Omi.”

“And what, I don’t get any say in it? My opinion matters so little that I find out the _day_ before?”

“I know, Omi.”

“And he just expects me to be okay with it? He expects me to _happy_ about it!”

“Kiyoomi.”

A hand fell upon his shoulder and the prince turned, practically seething at the knight who’s own expression displayed nothing other than a vague air of concern.

“You gotta breath, Kiyoomi.”

The words seemed to bring the prince back into reality, and he realised how out of breath he was. He had hardly even realised he was back in his chambers again, and promptly sank to his knees, his hands bracing him against the floor. His chest heaved, and he could feel sweat crawling down his neck.

“Get— Get off— I can’t breathe, Miya, get off—” He spoke between breaths, roughly yanking the hand away from his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried desperately to pull himself together.

Atsumu shook his head, moving his hands back towards the prince and grasping him by both shoulders, pulling him up so the two were face to face as they knelt on the floor.

“Prince, you’re spiralling, ‘kay? I need ya to breathe for me. You can yell at me all ya want for this later, but right now you just gotta breathe.”

Sakusa shook his head, his brow creased and his lip pressed tightly between his teeth.

_Breathe._

He opened his eyes, locking his focus onto the man in front of him in an attempt to centre himself.

_Breathe._

He let out a slow exhale, his arms falling loosely at his sides.

“Married.” He said, barely louder than a whisper.

“I know, Omi. I’m as pissed as you are.” Atsumu had the nerve to smile, “I’ll probably lose this job.”

“Fuck off, Miya.” the prince stood, pushing the knights’ hands away and seating himself on the edge of his bed. His breathing was steady now, and expression had fallen back into that look of sullen acceptance. “I can’t do anything about it.”

“Sure ya can, Omi-kun,” the knight stood, running a palm through his hair, “Just tell the king you won’t do it — he can’t exactly force ya up to the alter, can he?”

“You don’t understand,” Sakusa muttered, leaning back so he could stare up at the tall ceiling. “It’s my _duty._ I’d be disowned if I didn’t go through with it.”

“You can’t know that. Ya haven’t even tried yet. Ya can’t get married — You’ll probably hate the girl, whoever she is. She’ll probably be all over you; more than the maids are. And she’ll definitely be one of those spineless royals — the ones who can’t move a finger for themselves less they overexert—”

“I can’t change it. Just stop.”

“Come on, you gotta try—”

“I said _stop_ , Miya. You can go now.” Sakusa’s fists were tight at his sides, and he didn’t spare the guard a glance. His words were blunt - there was no room for argument.

“Come on, Omi. You know I can’t leave.”

Sakusa sat up with a groan, glaring at Atsumu where he stood.

“Stand outside the door. Find someone else to come babysit me. Do whatever it takes to get you out of this fucking room.” The venom practically dripped from his words, “ _Now_.”

Atsumu opened his mouth to speak, but a glance at the prince made him think better of the action.

“Fine.” He said monotonously, walking out and shutting the door behind him.

Kiyoomi breathed out, the newfound silence of the room making the way that his heart slammed against his ribs all the more apparent.

—————

The sound of metal scraping against metal cut through the silence of the courtyard, along with the occasional grunt of exertion, and the uneven shuffling of feet.

“It's fucking unfair.”

The swords met again, the harsh noise punctuating the sentences as the two sparring partners clashed.

“You’ve said. About 10 times now.”

“Well, it fucking is, alright?”

“And what ya gonna do about it, ‘Tsumu? March up to the king and make some demands? Get real.”

“Obviously not, ‘Samu. ‘m working on it.”

Another shuffling of feet, and the fight recommenced — the two swordsmen were talented — countering each other's movements with perfect ease and accuracy, their offence and defence matching up seamlessly every time.

“Ya getting worked up ‘bout it.” The knight said between breaths, “And there’s nothing ya can even do. So stop thinking.”

The darker haired of the two pushed forward, catching the other off guard with a winning blow, the other falling to the floor with a yelp.

“Ouch, ‘Samu.” Atsumu said with a huff, wincing as he pressed against his ribs where the final hit had landed. “I came to blow off some steam—” He touched the area again, sucking in a breath quickly at the stab of pain that the action caused “I didn’t plan on getting injured in the process.”

“That’s what ya get for trying to spar with someone better than you.” Osamu said, holding out a hand to pull his brother to his feet.

Atsumu took the offer, biting back another yelp of pain that the movement provoked in fear of more ridicule.

“How come you’re here, anyway? Aren’t you under orders to never leave ya little prince’s side?” Osamu mused, tossing a flask of water over to his twin after taking a long swig himself. The pair were both drenched in sweat; having not held anything back when practising their swordsmanship against each other, which was often the case with such a ferocious sibling rivalry that the twins shared.

“He was pissed— _I_ was pissed— so I left when he told me to. There’s two knights outside his door, and more in the hallway.” He said with a huff, taking a few long gulps before wiping his brow.

Atsumu had already shared everything there was to know about the prince’s current situation with his brother — there was little point trying to keep anything from Osamu, seeing as how the two were so adept at reading one another that the man would find out soon enough anyway. Atsumu had shared his frustration — how he was pissed that the king could treat his son in such a way and care so little; how he was annoyed that Sakusa refused to do anything about it, how the prince just submitted to what he believed was his fate as it was his ‘ _duty’._

Osamu had sympathised with grunts and brief nods, before chastising Atsumu for caring so much about something that was inevitable. And, as unsatisfying a response as that had been, Atsumu couldn’t say he’d expected much more. Osamu had always been the smarter, more rational of the two, while Atsumu was cursed with powerful feelings and opinions.

“So. Have ya come up with a plan, ‘Tsumu?” The boy asked with a tone that could convey nothing other than disinterest.

“Not yet.”

“Sleep on it, then.”

A lot of time had passed since Atsumu had left Sakusa in his room. He’d gone to check up on the prince — or, rather, he’d asked the guards stationed outside his chambers whether they’d seen or heard anything, to which they all said no. His meals had been brought to him, and there had been tailors coming in and out to fit the prince’s outfit for the ball the next day, but other than that, silence. Atsumu couldn’t say he was pleased with the answer but didn’t really know what else he could have expected, so he had left it at that. Other than his brief checks on Sakusa, the knight had spent the day sparring, with various other knights of the palace. Now, as he watched the evening sun dip back below the horizon, he figured that maybe Osamu was useful, sometimes.

“‘Kay.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Sakusa was up earlier than normal — not because he’d been rudely awoken by his personal knight, as was usually the case, but because his sleep had been so fleeting and restless that he’d given up trying to squeeze his eyes shut, and now sat awake under his heaping bed covers, waiting for his wake up call to come. His eyes were shadowed by dark bags that contrast against his porcelain skin, his hair tousled into an unruly mess from the tossing and turning he’d been subjected to in the knight. His eyebrows were knotted into a frown, and he looked as if he’d aged a few years overnight. The king would not be happy.

 _Marriage._ His fathers words had echoed in his mind all day, and all night since they’d spoken. Sometimes, he felt as if it was all just some twisted dream, his mind playing tricks on his for some strange reason. But then, he would realise that the sweat at the back of his neck felt all too hot, and the rising feeling of nausea too realistic to be a figment of his imagination. He couldn’t get married — Kiyoomi couldn’t imagine leaving the palace for another kingdom, let alone vowing to spend his foreseeable future with a woman he had yet to meet. Here, he had his routines; the palace servants knew how he liked things, the maids knew to leave him to his devices, even his infuriating personal guard knew his likes and dislikes and had grown to be able to handle them better than Sakusa wanted to admit. And he was going to leave it all behind.

The prince vaguely thought that he’d lost all grasp on time, but after watching the minutes pass on the ornate clock in his room, he realised that his wake up call was definitely late. The morning sun was already high above the horizon and beaming into the prince’s bed chambers before the knock at his door came. When the doors swung open at Sakusa’s permission, it wasn’t the straw-haired knight that entered, either, but a maid bringing his newly-tailored clothes for the ball. Sakusa felt a strange mixture of both pride and dread fall over him — had he finally managed to get rid of that persistent pain in the ass?

In the meantime, Atsumu was struggling with a bundle of bandages in his own, more modest bed chambers. The blow to his side that Osamu had given him the day before had blossomed overnight into a large, blotchy bruise that spanned his ribcage on one side. It was almost beautiful — areas of deep purples and blues mixing with paler areas almost like some abstract piece of art. Atsumu thought that it was less than attractive, and far too painful to be appreciated. The other knights had left the barracks a while ago, and there was nobody around to help him cover the bruise, so he was left twisting and writhing in an attempt to do the job himself.

He felt a strange nervousness about going to the prince’s side again — the two had argued countless times before; but Atsumu had rarely argued back or expressed an opinion that differed from Kiyoomi’s. And, he had _never_ left the way he did yesterday. He couldn’t put off seeing him for long, though, and once the knight was fairly satisfied that his haphazard bandaging wouldn’t fall off immediately, he made his way to the prince’s room, dismissing the knights stood outside and entering after a quiet knock.

“Where have you been?” Sakusa said with a growl, scowling at the knight who looked similarly sleep deprived, “You left. You realise it’s your job to protect me? You would have been executed if the king knew you’d abandoned me like that.” He was pissed, that was evident enough.

Atsumu grimaced slightly at the sudden onslaught, but pulled a smile onto his lips and closed the door behind him.

“You told me to leave, Omi-kun.” He said bluntly, eyeing the disheveled look of the prince. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the boy look so un-princely.

“That never got rid of you before, Miya.”

“Well, ya looked like you could use some ‘alone time’. And I needed to relieve some stress.” Atsumu sighed, moving to where the prince was perched at the edge of his bed. The movement provokes his injury and made him wince. “There were knights outside the whole time. Not like I would leave ya defenceless.”

Sakusa gave a huff in response, clearly not pleased with the response, but also not looking quite up to having a full blown argument with Atsumu just yet. He motioned towards the clothes that had been brought in by the maid, and Atsumu nodded, picking up the fabric and laying them down beside him. He promptly took a few steps away, turning so his back was to the boy and busying himself with some non existent piece of dirt that had appeared on his palm.

Miya had expected to be chastised a lot more — he’d anticipated being ignored, doors being slammed in his face, general cruelty at the hands of the prince, and at the very least some insulting yelling. And yet, other than the few harsh words he’d said, Kiyoomi was acting surprisingly normal and forgiving. The knight credited it to fear, or apprehension for the day ahead and the uncertainty that suddenly surrounded the prince’s future.

After a few minutes of him standing there in silence while Sakusa dressed, Atsumu coughed, a indiscreet attempt to nudge the prince into dressing a bit faster. He could onlystare at his fingers with his back turned for so long until it got repetitive.

“Give me a second.” The prince said, and Atsumu could hear the man struggling with something behind him.

“M’kay”

A minute or so went past, and with the sound of more irritated struggling, Atsumu gave another cough, wondering what was taking him so long.

“Ya need any help, Omi-Omi?” He said quietly, the words barely audible in fear that the prince would get offended at the offer.

“No.”

“Ya sure?”

“Yes.” The prince sighed, and Atsumu could feel the eye roll happening behind him, and finally the prince relented, “Fine.”

Atsumu almost thought he’d imagined the acceptance of his help, but once he verified that he was in fact not hearing nor imagining the word, he spun round, facing a prince who looked for all intents and purposes, fully dressed, save for his jacket — albeit with a little flush on his cheeks, presumably from all of the struggling he could hear.

“Knight Miya Atsumu, at ya assistance.” He hummed, casting his eyes up and down the prince’s body to find what it was exactly that he needed help with.

Sakusa bit his lip with dissatisfaction and turned around, revealing his issue.

He wore a fine white shirt — made out of a stunningly bright cloth that Atsumu couldn’t even name, with ruffles and pleats and intricate lacing. The piece fit him perfectly, the sleeves seeming to flow down from his shoulders and gather again at his wrists; the collar rising up his sculptured neck the perfect amount and making him look the exact picture of regality.Atsumu could see the way the broadness at his shoulders narrowed and tapered into his waist, and the curvature of his spine, the skin of his back dotted with freckles and tiny moles, like constellations against the midnight sky.

 _Ah —_ His back, although elegant and causing Miya’s breath to catch in his throat, was definitely not supposed to be visible.

“ _‘Knight Miya Atsumu’_? _”_ Kiyoomi said in a tone that was blatantly a mockery of the guard, “Are you going to help? Or are buttons beyond your skill set?”

“On it, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu nodded, closing the gap between the two and taking the fabric between his hands. He didn’t think it could be possible, but the fabric felt even softer than it looked, and he took a moment to run the material between his fingers before he actually got to work on the numerous buttons that ran up the entire length of the shirt on the prince’s back.

He wasn’t surprised Sakusa had struggled — Atsumu had the advantage of being able to see what he was doing and easily use both hands in front of him, and he was having enough trouble with the tiny buttons and tiny loops as it was. They were fiddly, and small, _and,_ the prince wouldn’t sit still.

“Ya know, I’d be quicker if you didn’t jerk around so much.” He said, as the prince moved away from him again just before he managed to slip a button into its corresponding loop.

“And I wouldn’t jerk around so much if your hands weren’t so cold.” Kiyoomi huffed,

Atsumu grinned, and in a move of spite pressed his fingers against Sakusa’s back, earning a yelp and a prompt kick in the shin. He winced, and murmured something rude that Kiyoomi couldn’t catch, but continued with his task, now taking more care to avoid the grazing of his fingers against the prince’s skin. Until it was mentioned, Miya hadn’t noticed how warm the prince’s skin really was — it looked so smooth and pale that Atsumu had almost convinced himself that if it looked so much like porcelain, the surely it also felt like it; cold and hard. But, as he pulled the final button into the loop and took his hands away to admire his handiwork, he couldn’t help but want to feel the soft warmth of the prince’s skin again.

“‘M done.” He murmured, smiling softly as the other man turned back around.

“Thanks,” Sakusa said quietly, glancing at himself in mirror with a pensive look.

Atsumu could rarely tell what the prince was thinking. His face was often so trained and expressionless that he could stare at it for hours and still get no hints into the emotions that the other boy was feeling — smiles were rare, and only ever shown to lords and nobles and other royals in order for the prince to make a good impression, and even then Atsumu knew they weren’t genuine. Scowls were more common, though Atsumu figured that he’d seen more of Kiyoomi’s scowls than anyone else in the palace — they seemed to be an expression saved personally for him. Even when the prince was sad, or dejected, Atsumu would never see such emotions displayed; either the prince covered the sadness up with a veil of anger, or simply hid himself away where nobody would be around to see it. Always being with the prince had given Atsumu the chance to see the tail end of some of these occasions — a raw, reddened lip that had been worried between teeth; eyes rimmed with a delicate shade of pink where tears had previously fallen; and that dull, subdued look in his eyes that Atsumu found he couldn’t stand.

He never mentioned these things he’d noticed, of course — the prince always did his best to hide them, so Atsumu always acted like he couldn’t see them. But sometimes, he wasn’t quick enough to hide the looks of worry that flashed across his own features, and knew that Kiyoomi had caught them. Still, the two never spoke of it. Their relationship was strictly professional, after all. The prince’s personal matters were not to be of his concern.

Right now, however, the knight felt like he could tell exactly what Sakusa was thinking. He was nervous — scared even. Atsumu couldn’t say he’d seen such an emotion before, and certainly not to this degree. The way Sakusa fiddled with the collar of his shirt; straightened the seams on his torso over and over, even when they were perfect to begin with. The way he stared at himself in the mirror, as if asking a question of himself and expecting his reflection to answer.

“Stop worrying Omi-kun. ’S just a ball. You’ve been to thousands.”

Sakusa’s eyebrows pulled together slightly in annoyance, and he turned away from the mirror to face Atsumu again, “I’m not worried.” He stated, and looked over the knight’s clothing with a grimace of disapproval. “And it is not _just_ a ball.”

Atsumu thought better of saying any words of disagreement, but rolled his eyes subtly at the predictable stubbornness. Regardless, Sakusa was right — this one was nothing like any of the balls that the prince had attended before; this one was for his marriage, his future. Not only would attention be primarily be on him, but the event also served as some sort of marker for what was inevitably to come.

“You’ll need to wear something less…” the prince paused, his eyes inspecting the clothes the knight wore again in search of a word to describe them, “ _you._ ”

Atsumu let out a laugh, loud and obnoxious, to which Sakusa simply scowled at.

“Ya know I can’t wear those jackets you always have on — they’re too tight and they make me look stupid.” He complained, hoping that today wouldn’t be a day where he was forced to dress up.

Usually, when attending balls and banquets and events, Atsumu was by the prince’s side as normal, the only difference being his attire. Instead of his usual, loose-fitting clothing that suited him so perfectly, he was forced into clothes that the palace judged suitable for a more important event. Most of the time, this consisted of similar clothes to the prince, though undoubtedly made from more common fabrics, and with much less detail and tailoring. Just enough to make the knight look as if he fit in. Atsumu hated the way he look in such clothes, however — he never thought that the colours picked out for him suited him, and hated the way that everything was so stiff. Such complaints he disguised under the idea that the constricting clothes prevented him from being able to protect Sakusa to his best ability.

“Fine.” Sakusa said, and made his way over to his closet with purpose.

The knight was caught off guard by such an action, surprised that the prince had even acknowledged his complaints. He watched in confusion as the other male searched through his closet, rifling through expensive fabrics and priceless items to find what he was looking for. After a little while, with Atsumu growing gradually more concerned, and the mountain of discarded clothes growing slowly wider across the floor, Sakusa pulled out what he was looking for.

The prince held up another white shirt, similar to the one he wore in the flowing sleeves and delicate material, but with a much more simplistic style, unlike the unnecessary complexity of the prince’s garment.

Atsumu frowned at the item, unsure of how it could be seen as any different from ones he already had and had worn to balls in the past.

The other man rolled his eyes, apparently being able to guess what Atsumu was thinking simply from the look on his face.

“Your shirts aren’t as nice as this, Miya — so with this, you won’t have to wear those jackets that you hate so much.” Sakusa said with a bluntness that contrasted with the genuinely favourable things he said.

Atsumu’s look of confusion quickly morphed into something of delight, and he grabbed a hold of the shirt in an eagerness he never thought he’d have for formal wear. Sakusa quickly realised what was happening as the knight stripped his current shirt off, and was fast enough to avert his gaze to avoid staring directly at Miya’s pectorals, his eyes staying glued to the floor until he was sure that the man had covered up again.

Now that he was wearing it, Atsumu realised that he could notice the differences of sakusa’s clothing and his own. The knight didn’t think he’d ever worn something as weightless of this — despite the extra fabric that was held in the flowing sleeves and detailed pleating, he felt almost as if he were wearing nothing, which was vastly different from the weightier fabric that made up his own clothes. It wasn’t as complex a piece as the one that Sakusa wore — fastened at the front with a simple tie that was laced across the v-neck collar — but it was still blatantly obvious that it was expensive; the care that went into the detailing at the hems, and the way it fitted him almost perfectly without the need for any tailoring.

“Ya sure I won’t have to wear a stupid jacket, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa nodded, and Atsumu thought he could see the corners of the prince’s mouth lift ever so slightly,

“It’s my ball, and I don’t care…”

Atsumu was practically buzzing at the idea — not only was he free from the restrictions posed by his typical formal wear, but the prince, one notorious for his blunt and uncaring attitude, had done something for him and _smiled._ Atsumu could feel his cheeks heat ever so slightly, but didn’t care.

“Thanks.” He said, careful not to stare to much save he was caught and the tiny smile he was certain was there disappeared, the amiable attitude going along with it.

Kiyoomi turned away and busied himself with the rest of his own clothes, brushing away wrinkles that had apparently appeared in the expertly pressed jacket.

He vaguely wondered why he felt so hot all of a sudden.

—————

The rest of the day went by quickly — the palace was alive with the buzz of anticipation for the celebration to come, as it always was the day of important events. There were servants rushing everywhere trying to get the place ready for the guests that would be arriving soon; workers coming and going, setting up decor and furniture; and now, as the day wore on and evening crept in, the movements of maids and servants died down, and the guest began to arrive. Of course, the prince and his personal guard were still hidden away in his bed chambers, the focus of attention for today’s ball biding his time until there was nothing else he could do to delay, and he absolutely _had_ to make an appearance.

“Omi-kun, the ball started a while ago now, I think it’s time to show up…” Atsumu prompted, eyeing the clock again in concern.

As much as Atsumu hated balls, and was aware of how much the prince detested them too, he knew that he’d have to go eventually. Often, when the prince was late to events, the blame would fall squarely onto Miya’s shoulders instead. Somehow the job title of guard had morphed into being some kind of babysitter as well. Atsumu could empathise with Sakusa — he didn’t like crowds, especially when they comprised mostly of stuck up bastards that wouldn’t dirty themselves so much as to even look down at a person of his social standing, and he knew that Sakusa couldn’t stand them either, but there was little he could do to avoid such circumstances, and was already doing as much as he could.

“Miya… A few more minutes. Its barely been an hour, anyway — nobody will be caring enough to miss me yet…”

Atsumu let out a torn groan, shaking his head and walking over to where the prince was perched at the window, watching the stream of visitors entering the palace taper off as the people left to arrive dwindled.

“No. We gotta go.”

Sakusa turned to the knight and huffed, standing and striding over to the door without waiting for Atsumu to catch up.

Predictably, the ball was already in full swing — the orchestra played some symphony that Atsumu couldn’t name if he tried; wealthy people dressed in expensive clothes danced gracefully across the area designated for such activity; and around the edges people talked and laughed over bubbly glasses of alcohol. Nobody even noticed the prince’s entrance.

Sakusa made a bee-line for one of the tables where the drinks were being passed out, picking up two glasses of the golden liquid and immediately draining one, before sipping more carefully on the other. Atsumu looked on with a grimace, though he couldn’t exactly blame him. Today was the culmination of all the things that Kiyoomi hated most: people (especially those who pretended to give a shit about him), being the centre of attention, and the topic of his future.

Soon, the prince was approached by a few nobles that Atsumu recognised from previous events — he didn’t remember their names, of course; there were too many faces and names for him to even attempt to piece together, and he didn’t care enough to try, but he remembered these people as being particularly overbearing.

“Prince Sakusa!” One of them called in a voice far too loud for the distance between them, “You finally appear — how does it feel to almost be a married man?” A wide grin spread along the man’s face, and he thumped a heavy hand down on the prince’s shoulder. Atsumu knew that was less than ideal.

“It feels great, Lord Haiba.” He said with a voice that only conveyed happiness. Sakusa was well versed on how to behave in social situations, but Atsumu could see the tension held in his perfect smile. His heart ached in helpless sympathy.

Atsumu’s job as the prince’s personal guard was simply to stay by his side at all times. He wasn’t obliged to speak to anyone, nor was he allowed to drink or leave Kiyoomi’s side for any reason — there was a heightened risk when there were so many guests in the palace — despite the high security and thorough measures in place, it wasn’t unheard of for things to go wrong. So Miya stayed as vigilant as he could among the eruptions of laughter and sea of voices, his hand never drifting far from where his sword hung at his hip.

The conversation continued with shallow questions and shallow answers, until something caught the lord’s eye and he eventually bid them adieu.

“How long left, Miya?” Sakusa demanded, his words hushed to avoid anyone overhearing.

“A while.”

“Great.” He said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“One step at a time, Omi-kun.”

The prince let out a sigh, before turning to the next people that approached, namely, the King.

“Kiyoomi, I trust you’re enjoying yourself?” The man spoke smoothly, though his cheeks were tinted pink from the effects of whatever pricey wine he must have been drinking.

“Of course, Father.”

“Make sure you speak to as many of the nobles as you can son. Impressions are everything.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You look tired. Make sure you look better for your wedding.”

“I will, Father.”

The king dipped away shortly after his brief conversation — he rarely had much to say to Kiyoomi, but Atsumu always thought he could at least pretend that he cared a bit more for his own son.

The rest of the night continued in a similar manner; Kiyoomi exchanging well-mannered words with each lord and lady that came to share their blessings with him; the occasional uncomfortable contact with guests that had drunk too much, or simply couldn’t read the subtle cues of discomfort. Sakusa finished a few more glasses, enough to relax his muscles as that gentle tingle flooded his body. Atsumu stayed alert, though he could feel himself grown more tired as the night wore on. What wasn’t helping was the gentle throbbing of his ribs, a dull pain constantly at the back of his mind.

Finally, guests stared to leave, and Atsumu could see the tension slowly seep from Sakusa’s body as relief flooded in in it’s place. His goodbyes were more animated, backed with the anticipation of finally being able to leave,

“Sakusa-kun!” Called that familiar voice, though words were slurred slightly with tipsiness.

“Lord Haiba.” Sakusa smiled, neatly avoiding the lord’s hand as it swung to thwack him on the back, the man barely noticing in his slurred state, “Goodbye, I hope you will come again next time.”

“Of course, Prince!” The man said, moving in quickly for what could only be a bear hug.

To Kiyoomi’s relief, Haiba Lev’s coordination was far from perfect when sober, but when coupled with a night of drinking, he was hopeless. Atsumu caught the lord before he fell face-first into the prince and the marble floor, ushering him on his way quickly.

“Bye, Haiba-san.” Atsumu said, turning back to Kiyoomi with a grin. “See? ’S not that bad.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. Tonight had definitely been ‘bad’.

“Shut up.”

“Ah… Ya’ love me really.” Atsumu winked.

And then, he was met with a jab to the ribs. The same ribs that were still horribly bruised from the night before. Atsumu let out a grunt, his cocky attitude quickly slipping away as he braced himself against his knees. He felt like the breath had been knocked out of him despite the lack of strength behind the hit. It really fucking hurt.

Kiyoomi frowned, assuming that Atsumu was joking, as he usually was. He hadn’t hit him _that_ hard. But, right now wasn’t exactly the time for his teasing, and even though Sakusa often doubted it, the knight was smart enough to know that — there were still people in the ball room, and the king was in clear sight. Even Miya wouldn’t dare.

“Come on.” Kiyoomi muttered, taking a hold of one of the prince’s wrists and dragging him away, not really caring for the pain it might have caused — he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone what was going on, namely because he didn’t even know.

They were quickly in Kiyoomi’s room, Atsumu having collapsed onto the prince’s bed without asking. The pain was no longer the dull throb of before, but a sharp, stabbing pain. He wouldn’t doubt it if someone told him he’d broken a rib the day before, and Kiyoomi’s mild jab had managed to provoke it just enough to make it hurt even more.

“What is wrong with you?” Kiyoomi asked, looking more angry than concerned.

“’S nothing, Omi.” He said, prying his eyes open to see the man looking over at him, and reminding himself that he was definitely not the type to nurse anyone back to health.

“Clearly.” The prince poked his rib again.

Atsumu yelled, and grabbed Kiyoomi’s wrist to stop any more attacks.

“Fuckin’ Osamu caught me yesterday when we were sparring. ’S nothing.” He said, “‘M fine.”

The wounded made a move to get up, only to be pushed back down by a soft, but painful push to the torso.

“Take your shirt off.”

“‘M not taking my shirt off.”

“Did I ask, Miya?” Sakusa crossed his arms over his chest, “Take it off.”

Atsumu knew that either he took the shirt off, or he got another punch to the ribs, so he relented, pulling the shirt over his head with a huff.

The bandages he’d put on that morning had been haphazard to begin with, and were now just a mess. They were barely still on his body, and for the most part had slipped down to hang uselessly around his waist. Atsumu hadn’t expected much more — it wasn’t like they were doing him any good, anyway.

“Christ.” Sakusa mumbled, his eyes tracing over the blotchy purple mess on the other man’s side.

It had grown darker over the course of the day. It looked bad — painting the side of the knight’s torso in purple and blue and yellow. Atsumu pulled the rest of the bandage off with a sigh, averting his eyes.

“I thought you were meant to be the better twin. I should have hired your brother if he can do this to you…”

“Shut up. I wasn’t focused.”

“Obviously.” Sakusa glanced back up to the knight’s face for a few seconds, before looking back at the bruise, “Tch. what do you even have to be stressed about?”

Atsumu was feeling more and more embarrassed about his prolonged exposure. He didn’t reply, in fear of any more heat rising to his cheeks.

“Can I put the shirt back on now?”

“No.”

Sakusa tore his eyes away and disappeared in the bathroom adjacent to the room. Atsumu could hear him opening a few cabinets before he reemerged, a bundle of things under his arm.

“Lie back.” the prince said as he busied himself with the various bottles and bandages he appeared to have found.

“What? No—“

“Miya.”

“I already told ya I’m fine.”

Sakusa reached towards his side, the threat promising, “Lie back.”

Atsumu groaned and lied back, wincing at the movement slightly. He didn’t know why he was in so much pain. Sure, the blow had been pretty hard, but he was sure he had experienced worse. Maybe it was worsened by stress, or the long day, or the repeated pokes that Sakusa had now learnt to use as a form of blackmail.

He stayed staring at the ceiling, silently revelling at how soft the prince’s bed was while Kiyoomi fussed over the various things he’d retrieved from the bathroom. Atsumu wanted to look, but knew that trying to sit up would only hurt him. He’d find out soon enough.

He felt Sakusa’s hand’s brush across the skin at his ribs, the movement much more gentle than the earlier pokes, the warmth of his skin vaguely familiar.

“What’re ya doing?”

Sakusa didn’t respond.

Atsumu was blushing enough as it was just from the embarrassment being rendered helpless by what to him was just a bruise, and now his cheeks were burning a furious red colour.

“Sakusa, enough…” He murmured, not wanting to get himself into a situation he couldn’t handle.

A cool feeling spread across his ribs, and his eyes shot open to see the prince leaning over him, now spreading an ointment over his side. He was confused — Kiyoomi had rarely given a shit about Miya before — He knew that the prince couldn’t stand his complaining, or his elaborate stories. And yet, here they were, Sakusa applying ointment to Miya’s wounds. Atsumu almost couldn’t believe it.

“Shut up.” Kiyoomi said before Atsumu even had the chance to say something cocky, or sarcastic, or teasing.

Atsumu shut up. He let the prince spread the cream across the side of his torso, closing his eyes as the pain seemed to slip away. It felt good — _really_ good.

At the feeling of the prince’s fingers leaving his skin, an involuntary moan slipped from between Atsumu’s lips.

His eyes flew open, and he came face to face with an expression that was just as shocked as his own.

 _Fuck_.

“Sorry— I, uh, didn’t mean—” Atsumu’s felt his ears heat up in shame as he searched for the right words, “Sorry.” He stood, roughly pushing past the prince to do so and pulling the borrowed shirt over his head as he made a dash to the door. He really couldn’t be in the same room as the boy after that.

“Sorry— I’ll— I’ll go.” He said, already halfway out.

Sakusa sat silently on the bed, and Atsumu could see the look of shock on his face had yet to disappear as he placed back for the last time before slipping out.

If Kiyoomi had said something, he’d missed it. All he could hear was the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears as he rushed back to his quarters.

_Fuck._

Atsumu’s thoughts were flying through his head by the time he was back at his bed. Why was the prince suddenly being so caring — Why had he let him touch him like that — Why had he made that noise, why had he rushed out, and why had Sakusa been making that _face._

His heart felt as if it was about to burst through his ribcage, and he crumpled the fabric of the shirt against his chest into his fist, silently cursing himself and praying that it would slow back down.

Thankfully, the rest of the knights were still out escorting guests and working through the night, so he was alone when he curled up on himself, burying his head between knees.

He was also alone when he realised that the shirt still smelt so strongly of the expensive fragrance that always hung around Kiyoomi.

His side didn’t hurt so much anymore, but it felt like the throbbing had just moved across to his heart.

_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy........ idk y I used lev he was just the most annoying one I could think of...
> 
> I genuinely cant tell if this is good so off feedback is great!1!!!!1!1!!!
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

Atsumu was taunted once again by a restless night.

He had thrown himself under his covers after ridding his body of the shirt that smelled far too similar to the prince, and squeezed his eyes shut for what felt like hours, tossing and turning until sleep finally took him.

He’d dreamt, and as fleeting as dreams were once you woke, he could so vividly remember the the face that had been there.

He woke up in the morning, flushed red and sweating through his bed clothes. His dream hadn’t been a nightmare — far from it, in fact — but it wasn’t any less traumatising when he thought back on it.

Sakusa’s face had been so close — both in the dream, and the night before. His expression had held none of that bitter anger, or cold resentment for the knight that it usually did. His eyes had been gentle and caring, his lips adorned with that _almost_ smile that hung around in Atsumu’s thoughts whenever he witnessed it. His hands, as slender as they were, had been firm; and that pale, freckled skin had been so warm he could have sworn it sparked flames within him.

It had been so real, so genuine that when he woke he could hardly believe that it had been a dream at all. It had all looked, sounded, and definitely _felt_ real.

He shifted under the covers in an attempt to find a position in which he could be comfortable enough to fall back asleep, hoping that just maybe he would be able to slip back into that same dream, when he felt the familiar stickiness between his legs.

_Fuck._

Sleeping in a shared dormitory with the other knights definitely had its downfalls, one of which being the difficulty of trying to leave his bed to go and clean himself up before the sun rose whilst simultaneously avoiding waking the people around him. Namely, Osamu, who would be too curious about his twin’s situation.

So, the blond Miya moved excruciatingly slowly, careful to hold his hands out in front of himself in the dark, and move with no urgency so as not to bump into any furniture and risk making a noise.

With a sigh of relief, he had left the room, grateful that nobody had woken to see him and his flushed face and sweaty skin.

He ran the tap in the washroom and splashed cold water across his face, the temperature calming the redness of his cheeks and waking him up from his half-asleep state.

He washed himself up, changing from his dirtied bed clothes into his usual attire — It would still be a while until he was due to get up, and the light of the sun had yet to start warming the sky, but Atsumu knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Especially with the dream so vivid in his mind.

In the process of changing, his eyes drifted to the bruise still prominent against his torso. He couldn’t tell if it had really faded, or if the angry colours had shifted to more muted tones, but the dull ache somehow felt less severe. He brushed the idea away — surely Sakusa’s ointments and gentle treatment couldn’t have made a difference.

—————

The early morning air was cold and sharp as Atsumu inhaled, stinging his lungs in an almost refreshingly painful way. 

He knew the grounds of the castle like the back of his hand. Kiyoomi would always escape to the solace of the countless courtyards and gardens and as per his duty, Atsumu would follow.

So, that is where he stood now, in one of the larger gardens that overlooked the city — this one in particular was further from the main buildings on the palace grounds. It was quiet during the day, but at night it was practically silent, the gentle tug of the wind on the leaves the only noise around.

It was too cold to be out in the thin clothing that Atsumu wore, but the goosebumps rising on his skin didn’t bother him, and the new redness appearing across his cheeks and nose was a good disguise of his earlier flush.

The city below was dark, save for the few lamps in the streets that mirrored the stars in the sky, tiny dots across the black landscape.

The palace and the capital were beautiful at night — the moon cast an eery light across the buildings and the lamps gave a beautiful yellow glow to the streets. The intimidating architecture of the palace cast a towering silhouette against the night sky, and while basking in such beauty Atsumu couldn’t help but feel homesick.

The village he and ‘Samu came from was small; a farming village of a few hundred buried deep in the countryside. Most people were farmers or merchants, who grew or made goods to trade in the markets in the bigger towns and cities. He remembered the first time he and Osamu had been taken to the city to attend the market with their father. He vaguely remembered the excitement of it all; seeing the paved streets and huge buildings and the crowds of people; and environment so vastly different from the one they were used to. When the twins saw the knights, though, was a memory that could never fade. Both he, and his less enthusiastic brother had been awestruck by the knights — their uniforms, swords, and the way they commanded power and authority.

When the twins grew older, and eventually left the village to train at the palace in the hopes of becoming knights, they received a send off to be envied. The whole town had been proud — to see two of their own boys going to work for the king. Nobody in the town ever amounted to much; a farmer’s life was one of hard labour for little reward, and compared to the salary of a palace guard was a pointless toil. And yet, Atsumu wondered whether he could ever really belong in the palace like he did in the village.

After a while of wandering through the gardens in the early dawn, the sun began to peak over the horizon and cast its yellowy light across the landscape. Atsumu didn’t really know how long he’d been up — it had been a while, and he was feeling sluggish and stiff from lack of sleep, but whether he had been in the gardens for an hour or for three, he wasn’t sure.

Today would be an early start anyway.

Today the prince was leaving. 

When Atsumu returned to his barracks, the other knights were stirring, and slowly getting ready for the day ahead. Osamu gave him a look when he returned, and Atsumu merely countered it with a glare. He didn’t want his brother's advice right now.

It was still early when he knocked on the prince’s door, and the knights entered before waiting for a response. He pulled the long curtains open, allowing the early morning sun to stream into the room, but he didn’t dare speak just yet. He wasn’t sure what Sakusa had held onto from the night before, and wanted to wait until he was sure of what the atmosphere was before he made any of his usual comments.

“Why are you so quiet?” came the first words from the prince, and Atsumu let out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, Omi-kun. I was just thinking about the journey…”

It wasn’t completely a lie.— Atsumu had been thinking about the journey that would encompass the day ahead of them. The kingdom that the prince was marrying into was far; further even than the thick countryside that the Miyas’ village resided in. It would be Atsumu’s first time venturing so far North, and he was sure it would be Sakusa’s, too. He knew the journey from his village to the city took around 3 days and that was travelling in a wagon with temperamental mules. In the royal carriage, it would be faster, but the journey was far longer — they would be travelling for at least 5 days.

He wasn’t _nervous —_ a knight as brave and strong as Atsumu doubted he could ever be truly nervous — he just had a lingering feeling of apprehension for the next 5 days. He would be as on guard as ever. People would have heard of the news of the prince’s marriage by now, and he didn’t doubt that most of the kingdom’s occupants would be aware of the journey to come. There were boundless dangers that existed outside the walls of the palace — bandits, criminals, wild animals, and nature itself were threats that couldn’t be simply ignored. Carrying such precious cargo as the first prince had its risks, but the kingdom they were travelling to had sent their own knights to accompany Sakusa’s. And with himself there, he was sure that the prince would never be in harm’s way.

Sakusa thought this was as good a time as any to break the news.

“You’re not coming.”

Atsumu spun around from where he was stood looking out the windows, now facing the bed in which Sakusa was still residing. He couldn’t see the prince under the heaps of sheets, but Atsumu was sure he had said something. He wanted to think that he had misheard.

“What?”

The lump in the bed shifted, but made no move to emerge from under the covers or leave the bed. Sakusa pressed his bottom lips between his teeth to refocus his attention away from whatever emotions he was refusing to recognise. There was no point backing down now. The damage was already done.

“You heard me, Miya.”

Atsumu shook his head. He had _not_ heard. He _wouldn’t_ hear those words.

He moved away from the window and towards the bed, looking at the covers with a glare, waiting for the prince to speak up — to say he had made a mistake; gotten confused. To proclaim that he was just kidding, a thing that Kiyoomi never did. Anything to prove that Atsumu _had_ misheard.

“You’re not coming.” The voice said, quieter this time than the first.

Sakusa cursed himself for the weakness in his tone. He knew better than to let his emotions show in such a foul, revealing way.

Atsumu didn’t think he could mishear twice.

“Of course ‘m comin’, Omi.”

The bed covers moved again, before being promptly thrown onto the floor as the prince left the bed, stood at the opposite side of the mattress from the knight.

His hair was a mess — it looked matted and unkempt, far from how Kiyoomi usually kept it. His eyes were dark, his skin even paler and shadowed with a sickly dullness. He looked like he’d slept even less than Atsumu had, which could have hardly been called sleep at all. Atsumu noticed the bright, blood-like redness that had appeared on his bottom lip, and the thin, pale pink that rimmed his eyes.

Sakusa had been crying.

Atsumu felt sympathetic. His forehead creased and his expression softened. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what Kiyoomi had been going through these past couple of days. He’d never wanted the life of the prince, he’d simply been born into it, and had to grow up dealing with the stresses and pressures and expectations that such a life brought.

The king had never been much of a father figure — he expected Sakusa to be so much; strong, regal, charming, charismatic. He’d never shown whether he had any pride in his own son, and had no consideration for the boy’s opinions or feelings. Sakusa was to accept what was, and what wasn’t. There was no room for argument. And now, the epitome of his lack of care was shown with the arranged marriage. The prince was being sent of to get _married._ Atsumu couldn’t think of anything that Kiyoomi would hate more.

Atsumu felt a wave of guilt wash over him and cling on, weighing him down till his feet were rooted in place. All this, and Atsumu had made it worse. Thinking of the prince, dreaming of him the way he had. He felt sick to his stomach.

“You’re not coming.” Sakusa stated again, firmer, more sure this time.

The sympathy, the guilt, the worry — the feelings wavered for a moment, and then disappeared like a fleeting memory, lingering only in the back of Atsumu’s mind until it was necessary they were brought back. Sakusa was pushing him away.

“ _Why_ not?”

The prince glared, his gaze like pure fire. Atsumu could swear he felt his skin warm.

“You aren’t needed.”

Atsumu’s stomach dropped, the words echoing in his head.

“What? I’m yer guard, Kiyoomi, of course ‘m needed.” Atsumu didn’t want to admit it, but he heard his own voice shake, and was certain the Sakusa couldn’t have missed it either. He couldn’t tell if what he was feeling was anger, frustration, anguish, fear.

“No, you’re not,” Sakusa looked away. The prince couldn’t stomach the look of utter dejection, of pure _hurt_ that he had caused upon Atsumu’s face. Regardless of the guilt that gnawed at him, he continued, channeling as much venom, as much severity into his words as he could, while still maintaining that air of unaffectedness that he produced so well.

If he hurt him enough now, that would be the end of it all.

If he made himself painfully clear, Atsumu wouldn’t dare to try to oppose his wishes, or attempt to change his mind.

If he got it all over with now, he wouldn’t have to see that look on Miya’s face again.

“The other kingdom is sending a carriage, and knights. They know the route, and are well-versed in combat. They arrived last night. If you came, you’d just get in their— in _my_ way.”

With that, Sakusa moved away. He didn’t leave time for Atsumu to think, let alone speak before locking the door of the bathroom behind him. He didn’t see the way Atsumu opened his mouth to call out, only to close it, defeated, a few moments later. He didn’t see the way Miya clenched his jaw to keep his lip from shaking. He didn’t see the way that look of dejection that seemed so foreign on the knight’s face morph into something with more clarity; a look of resolve.

He wasn’t needed.

Atsumu didn’t wait for the prince to emerge from the bathroom — he didn’t think his emotions would hold if he heard another word for the boy, so he left. He went back to the barracks, to where Sakusa definitely wouldn’t be. He didn’t need to stay by his side any more.

He wasn’t needed.

————

Hours must have passed before anyone found him — he’d lost track of time a while ago — Atsumu had spent his time toiling in the barracks, busying himself with trivial tasks in desperate attempts to keep his mind from drifting back to Sakusa, back to the idea that he was leaving, leaving _without_ him, and the words he’d said that hadn’t ceased echoing in his head ever since he’d first heard them uttered.

The knight had made his bed at least twice, along with sweeping the entirety of the room. He’d sharpened and re-sharpened his sword that hadn’t needed sharpening, and was now cleaning the scabbard after running out of other ideas.

It was Osamu who found him. The two practically shared a brain, so it hadn’t taken him long to figure out where the other knight would be. The only reason he’d been alone so long thus far was because nobody had known he had disappeared until the prince’s send off, when the one person who spent the most time with the prince had failed to appear.

“What the fuck are ya doing here?” He said bluntly, though his words weren’t as abrasive as they sounded

Atsumu looked up from the menial task he was doing for a moment to cast a glare at his brother. He hadn’t needed to look up — he could tell who had arrived from the way the footsteps sounded, let alone the voice; he’d needed to glare at him, to show his twin that he wasn’t up for an argument right now. He didn’t need to be ridiculed, or to be given any wise advice on why he was being such a moody brat, or whatever Osamu felt was necessary at the time.

Atsumu _knew_ he was being unreasonable. He knew that he shouldn’t have stormed off; should have accepted what he was told by the person who was basically his boss, as well as the first prince of the kingdom he served. He shouldn’t have argued, shouldn’t have felt so personally effected by it, along with a number of other things he knew he shouldn’t have done.

But he couldn’t help it.

“He doesn’t want me to come with ‘im”

“So what? You didn’t say goodbye either?”

Those words made Atsumu lift his head again. Kiyoomi wasn’t mean to leave until midday, he knew that for a fact. He’d planned on saying goodbye, at least, even if the prince had refused his company on the journey.

“What?” He said, his features creased in confusion. That much time can’t have passed yet. He hadn’t been here _that_ long.

“He’s already left ‘Tsumu.”

The straw-haired twin stood, the scabbard clattering to the hard floor after dropping from his lap.

_“_ What do you mean? We— _He_ isn’t meant to leave until midday.”

Osamu shook his head, sighing and looking at Atsumu with a look that could almost be considered sympathy, but was more likely to be closer to pity.

He’d fucked up. _Again._

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

“It can’t have been long, can it? They will still be in the city by now, surely?” Atsumu said quickly, not bothering to listen for an answer before he was rushing out of the room and towards the front of the palace.

Maybe he could catch him.

Atsumu was practically throwing himself through hallways and past doors, his breath fast and heavy and his muscles pumped to move him faster. If anyone saw him, he would be punished without a doubt — running in the palace was strictly forbidden, but he had greater things to worry about.

By the time he had made it outside to the front of the palace, an area that looked down upon the city perfectly, the entire landscape beneath perfectly visible to the naked eye, he was out of breath and gasping for air. His legs ached from the exertion, and his head throbbed from the brief time when it was starved for blood and air in sacrifice for his muscles.

He squinted, and could just about see the convoy of unfamiliar carriages moving steadily away from the palace and into the city. He had no chance of catching him.

Atsumu doubled over, his stomach heaving from the pure amounts of effort that had gone into his desperate sprint, and it was all for nothing.

He wondered if Sakusa was looking back. He wondered if he could see him, standing there, desperately trying to just say goodbye.

He wondered if the prince even cared.

—————

Sakusa’s departure had gone as smoothly as expected. He would be travelling with a convoy made entirely of knights and servants from the kingdom he would be travelling to. There had been arrangements for some of his own knights, namely Atsumu, to come along too, but such plans had be quickly altered upon the prince’s sudden request.

His father had given him a short and unfeeling goodbye — vague and hollow well-wishes and a detailing of what was expected of him. No hugs, or even a smile, no utterances of how proud the king was to see his son fulfil his duty, or descriptions of how much he was loved. It was an official send-off. There was no time for emotions.

Sakusa had bitten his lip through the whole thing, urging himself to deal with it all for just a little while longer, to just _breathe,_ like he always told himself to do.

There were other people from the palace there to send him off, too. His old teachers, those who taught him of his duties and how to behave properly and act with the eloquence expected of a prince. The maids and servants that tended to him often were there too, waving him goodbye. Sakusa couldn’t help but feel bitter about the presence of such people — they can’t have genuinely liked him — he was demanding at times, and picky at others. He couldn’t count the occasions where he’d been dismissive or rude, and the idea that they were there to wave him off left a feeling of weak resentment in his gut.

His attention then drifted to the ranks of knights that were there too. From the numbers present, Sakusa assumed that almost all of the palace’s permanently stationed knights were there. He didn’t care for their presence, particularly, but his eyes moved along their ranks regardless. He sought out the messy head of yellow hair, and cursed himself for doing so.

There was nobody by his side through it this time, not like their usually was. There was nobody that he could complain to without coming off and spoilt or damaged. There was nobody who understood his tendencies, or how he liked things, or what he hated the most. There was nobody who understood, and did so without judgement.

Kiyoomi had to push such thoughts away. He’d wanted it this way. He had been the one to request that he be without any of his own men. He couldn’t go back on his choices once he’d made them, especially after seeing how his words had hurt Miya; so much so that the knight hadn’t even shown up to say goodbye. He cursed himself for the feelings of guilt, of regret and remorse for his actions. Miya was just another knight in the long line of those that served him, and one that was more annoying, more hated than the rest. He would get in the way, so Sakusa had dismissed him.

It was for the best.

Once Kiyoomi was settled into his carriage, and the final checks were complete, the convoy was on it’s way. His own carriage was not discernibly more luxurious than any of the others, for reasons of safety, to prevent bandits or other criminals from being able to easily target the prince. Sakusa understood, but wondered how he’d fare on a five day journey to a place and a future he despised in such cramped and uncomfortable accommodation.

Left alone, he was at the mercy of his thoughts once again. The dread about his future returned, and he longed to be able to flee his fate. An entirely new kingdom, and an entirely new home, new people, new duties, new routines. It meant going through the torturous ordeals of his youth as a young prince all over again, relearning his patterns and struggling again with servants and maids waiting on him tirelessly, unknowing of his hatred of feeling useless.

He cast a glance back at the palace as the convoy moved towards the city, watching the slowly shrinking image of the palace — wondering if there was any way he could go back, despite how much he hated his life, he knew what he faced elsewhere would surely be worse. His eyes lingered, for just a moment, _just in cas_ e a blonde knight were to appear outside.

Sakusa cursed himself for faltering again at his choices, for looking for Miya. He turned his head back around, vowing to keep his eyes forward until the palace could disappear fully from view.

He had told Miya not to come for good reason. He would get in the way. He wouldn’t be needed in the other kingdom. Sakusa had no right to be looking out for him.

It was for the best.

Kiyoomi found it hard to convince himself that the statement wasn’t a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm... ok.... hiiiiii 
> 
> heart emoji


End file.
